Chapter 21 Olivia #2
“Have mine,” he calls from the other end of the bike stand. But I shake my head, knowing his giant helmet will be way too big for me.
“Never mind, let’s just get there!”
We ride furiously through the rain, laughing, my sopping underwear uncomfortable on the saddle. Once over the creek bridge, we’re at the marina bar in a matter of minutes, Jake grabbing my wet hand again as we scurry from the bike stand and up the steps into the loud, busy room.
It’s packed, as usual, at 8:30 p.m. on a Friday night, and there are no tables free.
An up-tempo Luke Bryan song blares out from the sound system as Jake and I stand by the front desk, dripping onto the welcome mat.
A group of old guys on a nearby table watch us, chuckling at our disheveled state.
“Is it raining out there?” one of them calls. They break out laughing.
A hostess finally leads us to the last two seats squeezed together at the corner of the bar. The secluded spot is a relief, as my soaked playsuit is sticking to every part of my torso, and we turned more than a few heads as we wove through the tables.
“You drink beer?” Jake pulls his stool close enough that our knees graze.
I nod, pushing wet hair out of my eyes. “The IPA they serve here is good. You like it, too.”
He raises an eyebrow at me. “I do, huh? You and I come here?”
“It’s the bar closest to our place. We come in here all the time, probably every week or two. The house we bought is just around the corner, on Bradley Road. Less than a five-minute walk.”
“Wow. That’s wild. I’ve never been in here before.” Jake turns to the waiting bartender, Griff, whom I know well, but, no surprise, doesn’t recognize either of us. Jake orders a pitcher of the IPA.
A pitcher.
Guess he’s not planning on making this a one-drink conversation.
“What’s our place like?” he asks as he fills our glasses.
“It’s sweet, real pretty. A bungalow on a wide lot. It was kinda shabby inside, but we renovated the whole place, and now it’s gorgeous.”
And it is. I poured everything into making it the perfect home for us.
“Two bedrooms and a small den, which I use as my office to run my interior design business. A good-sized living room, which we opened into the kitchen, so now it’s one great room stretching from front to back.
A separate garage, where you keep all your surfboards as well as your car.
It’s only a seven-minute drive to the beach, so it works for you. ”
I take a sip of my beer. “Of course, in this version of life, somebody else has bought that house. I went there a few weeks back, told them I used to live there, and they let me look around.” I grimace. “It still had the eighties décor from when we bought it.”
“Not a fan of the eighties style, huh?” Jake pushes a dripping lock off his forehead.
I shake my head.
He hesitates for a moment, before continuing, “There really are two different versions of this world? One where you died and one where you didn’t.
And you’ve seen both.” He studies his half-filled glass.
“I mean, you’re right — I do like this beer, it’s delicious.
You know me. Not just from when we were kids but also as an adult.
You know I have more than one surfboard. ”
He leans in. “Okay, tell me some things only I would know. That only Liv Grainger could also know.”
I smile, shifting uncomfortably on my stool. My clothes are still damp. “Testing me, huh? Okay, that’s fair.”
I spend a few seconds sifting through for the right memory.
“We were with your old dog, Ginny, the day we found the quarry lake. I’m pretty sure you never told anybody else about that.
We were about ten, maybe just turned eleven.
We’d taken Ginny for a run on our bikes, and we were exploring the woodland at the end of the track.
Ginny was off leash, and she disappeared into the trees, so we followed her and found the wire mesh fence with the unsecured section she’d gone through.
We could see there was a clearing in the trees, and she was barking in the distance.
We followed her and it opened up into the quarry, with the turquoise pool at the bottom.
We’d never have found the place if it weren’t for Ginny. ”
Jake looks at me, his lashes still damp, his eyes a dazzling blue despite the low light of the bar. “Do you remember Ginny’s brother’s name? The black lab from the same litter, who got hit by a car?”
“Oh, yeah. Rummy. That was sad.” It really had been.
My first experience of death. “We were, what, seven? I remember being at your house, your old place by the river. We were looking for him in that huge yard. I remember Ed had let him out. Then your dad came into the house, carrying Rummy. We were all crying, even your dad. We had a funeral for him in your yard. Poor Ed never forgave himself.”
Jake is gazing into his beer, playing with a trickle of condensation on his glass. “Fuck,” he mutters, then looks up at me. “You’re really her. I mean, I knew that. But I kept doubting myself. It’s so . . . it’s impossible.”
“I know. But like I say, it’s clearly not, because here I am. It’s just something we don’t understand. Yet.”
Jake looks dazed. “But how?”
I shrug. I’ve had time to think about this, and have a theory.
“I don’t think there’s ever just one, or even two versions of events.
I think there’s an infinite number. Every choice, every possible life path that anyone could go down, from major life changes to tiny decisions, all those versions of reality exist somewhere in space and time.
And they’re not universe-length physical distances away.
They all exist right on top of each other, folded in, just out of reach.
And maybe there are soft spots between them, created where those life splits happened.
It took me falling off a cliff as an adult, at the exact same place where I ‘died’, aged twelve, to thrust me through a soft spot into this version.
And here I am.” I wave my hands in the air.
The corners of Jake’s mouth turn down as he considers this theory. “Like the portals to another universe in His Dark Materials? Have you read those books?”
Exactly.
“Yes, just like that. Only without the Dust.” I laugh. “We both read those books when we were around fifteen. We’ve been obsessed with them ever since. They’ve made a new TV show of it, and we’ve been enjoying watching that together.”
Jake grins. “Yeah. I have too. Sounds like you’re as much of a geek as I am.”
“We made each other that way, I always figured. I’m glad you turned out like that anyways, without my influence.” Another thing for my ‘same’ column.
Jake takes another sip. “We were always geeky kids. And even though I lost you at twelve, I think your influence stayed with me.”
“No kidding. Neverending Story was our favorite movie when we were, like, eight, right? Later it was Lord of the Rings. We were always swapping fantasy and sci-fi books.”
Jake gives his beer a wry smile. “We had a lot in common.”
“We still do.” My voice is quiet.
He frowns, watching the beads of condensation drip down his glass.
He’s thinking about Savannah, I can tell. Thinking how different we are, probably. Yet how both of us suit him.
“Does she know you’re with me tonight?”
Jake doesn’t have to ask who I’m talking about. He shakes his head. “She’s out with girlfriends downtown. I couldn’t tell her. She wouldn’t understand, she’d worry that maybe I wanted to get back with you.”
He lifts his eyes to mine, his knee now pressed against my thigh. “That’s not why I’m here. Savannah and I . . . we may not have as much in common, all that shared history, but we’re happy. She’s an amazing woman. Very kind and loving.”
I press my lips together. “I’m sure she is. You wouldn’t be with her otherwise.”
He reaches forward, pouring us both a refill.
“I never had girlfriends in high school. After you died, I was broken. Devastated. It took me a long time to get close to another girl. I didn’t even go to prom.
I didn’t date anyone fully until Princeton, and those were crappy relationships with women I didn’t really care for.
I didn’t allow myself to love anyone until my mid-twenties.
Until I met Savannah. She saved me. Saved me from the grief I was still carrying over you, I realize now. ”
His hand rests just millimeters from mine on the bar. I suck in a breath, and move mine closer so our skin touches.
“Jake! Hey, buddy! I never see you in here.” A man’s voice, loud, behind us.
A muscular, gray-haired man, probably in his fifties, is pushing through a group of people. He’s dressed casually, in a tank and shorts. He slaps Jake on the back. Jake’s eyebrows are raised in surprise. And something else. Guilt?
“Oh, Kirk. Hey, man. Good to see you.” Although Jake does not look the least bit pleased.
The man turns to me. He looks closely at my face and wet hair. “And who’s this?” I’m clearly not Savannah.
“Right, yeah, this is, uh, Olivia. An old family friend.”
Well, that at least is true.
Kirk examines my face, carefully, almost as if he’s searching his memory. “Olivia, good to meet. . .” His eyes narrow. “Oh, I know you! I couldn’t figure it out for a second. Wow. Out of context. And with your clothes on this time.” He laughs. “It’s a relief to see you looking so well.”
Wait, what? With my clothes on?
Jake looks equally perplexed.
“Do I know you?” My voice is chilly.
“Ah, no, you wouldn’t recognize me,” Kirk replies easily.
“You weren’t conscious.” At Jake’s strangled noise, he adds, “I was hiking by the old quarry a couple of months ago, and my dog found you unconscious on the rocks down by the lake. Not a stitch of clothing on, and no clothes nearby. I had to carry you to my car, take you to the ER. You didn’t seem to have a head injury, but you also wouldn’t wake up.
I waited around for a while at the hospital, but you were admitted, still unconscious when I left.
I gave the nurse my name. He said he’d tell you. ”